


Another Time, Another Place

by SnarkySharke



Series: Fate Drabbles [4]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22468003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkySharke/pseuds/SnarkySharke
Summary: Emiya has accomplished a great many things he has absolutely no business attempting.A short work based on the finale of the Sixth Singularity, as it happened in my game.
Relationships: light references of Shirou / Saber
Series: Fate Drabbles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597582
Comments: 8
Kudos: 87





	Another Time, Another Place

**Author's Note:**

> Updated 3/15/2020: Couple of typos I managed to overlook... Fixed!

“ _Lord -- Camelot!_ ”

The alabaster walls of Camelot surrounded them again, and the searing light of the Holy Spear again splashed against it, a raging inferno held back by the very ideals of the knights. It was the second time Mash was deploying the full might of her Noble Phantasm, and had the walls of the throne room not already dissipated into the swirling light of the End of the World, they would have been blown away by the sheer force of the Lion King’s fury.

If what Bedivere said was true, those walls would never fail to defend them as long as they stood, and as long as Mash’s ideals remained, which nobody in Chaldea would doubt. However, Master could only supply so much magical energy to erect the walls in the first place. Although her resolution was stalwart, Mash’s limbs were shaking as she blocked the second thunderwave from King Arthur -- the Goddess Rhongomyniad.

The roaring heat and sound subsided, and smoke was left as the walls of Camelot faded again. The Lion King dismounted from her steed and waited impassively. They had proven themselves strong already. What more did they have in store?

That was when her son came hurtling through the smoke. 

Mordred launched herself over Mash, blade igniting into violet lightning and sending a wave of destruction out toward her father.

A single flash of what could be likened to panic. Mordred’s power was nothing compared to hers, but Clarent was wrapped in Mystery based on the very concept of killing Arthur Pendragon. 

But without a word, she dug her boots into the throne room floor and unleashed her lance again, blinding beams of energy meeting with an explosion and the stench of burnt air. When the weapons disengaged, a black trench scarred the floor between them, and in an instant the two fighters closed the distance again. Bedivere streaked in behind Mordred, old allies now far closer than they had ever been in life. When Mordred was on the backswing, Bedivere stepped in with a thrust toward the Goddess, and when his assault was batted aside, Mordred interrupted the counterattack with a savage kick and another flurry of blows. When they were both swept aside in a mana burst great enough to make their hairs stand on end, Mash was there to keep her back from Master. 

But Master was quickly running out of energy and command seals to oppose the Goddess’ seemingly limitless reserves. Emiya’s arrows were barely helping keep her at bay, keep her from finishing the two knights on the front line. A single falter in himself or Mash might mean death for their Master.

The battle went on, and it went badly.

Bedivere was limping and scorched, his flesh pale and shedding, though his arm -- the repurposed Excalibur -- still glowed with holy light. In front of him, Mordred stood, protecting him and raging against her father. Her armor had been shattered and shed already, and she was smeared with soot and blood, heaving with every breath. 

“ _Rhongo--_ ”

Mordred jerked into action, kicking Bedivere away and raising her sword above her head. “Clarent -- Blood--!”

There was no way she could stand up to that in her state. Mash made to ready her shield, but she had used her noble phantasm too many times already. There was still another option.

Emiya stayed her hand and dashed forward with a burst of reinforcement magecraft as the two beams of crackling light met.

Projection magecraft was considered a useless trick for good reason: even the best projections were hollow imitations, with not the substance to replace the original in purpose nor even to remain in the world for long. However, there were exceptions to every rule. Emiya had perfectly average magic circuits, woefully unsuited to a Heroic Spirit or even a Master -- but they were made for one specific purpose. The Heroic Spirit Shirou Emiya was a living forge, strengthened by the Throne to which he had long ago sworn, and although it was more costly, it was not only swords he could replicated. And although it required very specific circumstances...

“ _I am the bone of my sword..._ ” he muttered, sliding to a stop beside Mordred and raising his open hands ahead of him. “The Ever-Distant Utopia… unreachable haven of the King of Knights… I am your sheath -- _Avalon!_ ”

As Mordred collapsed and the blood-red energy of Clarent gave way to the blinding gold light of Rhongomyniad, the firing pin came down, and a brilliant scabbard of gold and blue appeared at Emiya’s fingertips. It was a part of him, the only perfect replica he could make, a reflex, without process, without concentration, without even an expenditure of energy; but without being fed energy by King Arthur herself, it was hardly more than a nostalgic bauble with a low-level healing enchantment, not worth manifesting.

But here, at the End of the World, within the Walls of Camelot, the Divine Realm of the Round Table -- at the very throne of King Arthur…

The smell of verdant grass and apple blossoms. A gentle breeze over boundless fields. Somewhere, water rippled gently. Purest sunshine fell across their faces, warming them to their cores. For a moment, the roar and blinding glare of Rhongomyniad was silenced, part of a separate world entirely.

The Goddess looked even more consternated when the gentle glow of Avalon faded, more than when Lord Camelot had manifested.

“Who are you?” she ground out. 

“Set me down, damn it,” Mordred muttered, even as he did so, placing her gently beside Master.

“You’ve done your part,” Emiya told her. “Leave the rest to me.”

“Emiya--” Mash started.

“You need me,” Bedivere said, forcing himself to his feet, but Mordred grabbed his wrist.

“No,” the knight breathed. "Trust him."

Bedivere hesitated, but forced himself to nod to the Archer in red. “But Excalibur…”

Emiya looked at Master. Master’s mouth stiffened, but Emiya saw the reluctant nod. 

“Leave it to me,” he repeated.

“Oi!” Mordred grabbed his belt. “I’m going with you, you bastard. This is my fight.”

“This is all our fight,” Emiya said, looking around at their little motley group. “But Mordred -- the one to face a corrupt king should be a simple retainer, not the heir.”

Mordred made a face, obviously displeased he should choose such a time to pay her such a nicety. But Emiya pulled away from her grasp, and Mordred didn’t try to follow again. 

“You waited,” Emiya called.

“It makes no difference at what speed your end comes,” the Lion King said, her eyes boring like lasers into him. Those were not the eyes of Artoria Pendragon. 

Their battle had not been without payoff, even on their back foot as they were. The Lion King had lost one gauntlet, her cloak and furs had been burned away, and she had been separated from her steed quickly. Soot dusted her pale visage, but nothing seemed to truly touch her immaculate features, save for some splashes of blood that did not belong to her. 

“I hope you find your rest peaceful,” she said without emotion, and dashed into action.

“ _I am the bone of my sword,_ ” Emiya breathed.

Movements too fast to follow. Force too colossal to oppose. Blood and loose bangs dripped into Emiya’s eyes.

“ _Steel is my body, and fire is my blood._ ”

Emiya dodged and parried, lost his blades, resummoned them and dodged again.

“ _Never knowing victory, nor knowing defeat._ ”

The tip of the lance slashed across Emiya’s chest, carving clean through his body armor and into flesh like a burning brand. One of his sleeves fell away in tatters. He grunted and focused, ducked before she could take his head.

“ _I have created over a thousand blades--!_ ”

Jump back. A volley of arrows from above -- blocked at impossible speed, without so much as a flinch.

“ _But these hands will never hold anything._ ”

The Lion King closed the distance in a blink, long golden bangs whipping in her face, and struck out. 

“ _I have nothing else to give but--_ ”

Emiya met her again in a flurry of blows, just trying to stay alive. Once more Bakuya was bashed from his grip, the might of the blow breaking one of his fingers.

“ _Unlimited Blade Works!_ ”

He jumped back, avoiding and impaling blow only because a cage of swords dropped around the Lion King. Blue fire raced outward, and the landscape became sand, swords, and great gears turning. Rhon channeled a burst of mana, child’s play to her, and her cage crumbled. She raised her lance, ready to charge again at the Archer.

Nothing less than everything would suffice, so Emiya summoned a thousand blades and readied a thousand more in his mind’s eye. He sent Gram, Durandal, Harpe and a dozen more lancing toward the Lion King from all different angles at once. He reinforced Kanshou and Bakuya into their overedge forms and leapt forward to preempt the Goddess. She was prepared for it all. Keen instinct that now bordered on divine protection let her weave between the blades and dodge away when he surged magic into them, turning them into near-nuclear Broken Phantasms, magical fire washing over them both. She batted Kanshou and Bakuya out of his hands like playthings, as she did with the next set, and the next, and each set as they boomeranged back toward her, and the series of blades -- Dyrnwyn, Chandrahas, Laevetainn, Dainsleif -- he Projected and brought down toward her. 

Triple-Linked Crane Wings -- a poetic name for a deadly technique that in other worlds had even defeated Artoria herself -- failed with another mana burst that blew Emiya’s bangs from his eyes again and burned his cheeks with raw crackling energy. 

And suddenly he was coughing blood onto her pristine chestplate of metal moonlight, less than an arm’s length from him. Emiya blinked away the blood and forced himself to look at her. See her.

There was no trace of his Artoria in those chartreuse eyes.

“You fought valiantly,” she said, without any meaning behind the words. Leftovers from a previous existence.

With the last of his strength, Emiya smirked.

“Trace… on.”

Only a hint of shock registered in her eyes, and she was already moving backward as the blade materialized in Emiya’s hands. As the lance pulled free from his body, he was barely able to maintain concentration. The hammer clicked. The lance burned with light. The firing pin came down.

“Rhongo--!”

“Too late.”

He had known Bedivere’s arm for what it was. Not at first; but that sword and its predecessor had been imprinted on his life, and eventually he realized why the shine of Bedivere’s arm felt familiar. From there, realizing what had created the Lion King, and what Bedivere was meant to do, was simple. And although the effort would surely kill him, Bedivere was not the only one with access to the Sword of Promised Victory.

“ _Excalibur!_ ”

Blinding golden light enveloped the Goddess before she could muster a defense. Her armor began to melt and burn away. Her hair, finally, began to uncoil in the face of the force levied against her.

His ears popped, and Emiya felt a sickening sensation as the energy dissipated. Only now was there genuine surprise in the Lion King’s eyes, as her own blade pushed through her stomach. With the last moments of consciousness, Emiya forced himself to look into her eyes, but again there was no recognition, no sorrow, nothing human at all. He looked for it, but he couldn’t find anything. It didn’t make him feel any better.

Excalibur disappeared along with the last dregs of Emiya’s strength, and he collapsed into her. He could barely see, but the Lion King’s wound was already gone again. But returning the sword to her, even a false copy, had done its job; the victory was not so much literal as conceptual, and the castle around them was beginning to shimmer and fade, just as Emiya was. His spirit core wasn’t so much damaged as simply _gone_ , drained into that sword. The last thing his eyes would see would be that sword, that king. At least until he was summoned for the next crisis. That was right enough, he thought. He hated to leave Master and the others to deal with Solomon without him, but he knew they could manage it. 

Then he felt the command spell. Energy flowed into him, running through the tears and leaks caused by such a Projection, slowly clotting them. Life support, just enough so he wouldn’t be un-summoned. A foolish use of Master’s last command seal, when the Lion King still threatened them, but not one Emiya supposed he had any right to argue against. His form stayed solid, slumped against the Goddess, who luckily began to disappear herself.

He slipped into unconsciousness as they were pulled back to Chaldea, and he did something he didn’t think was possible anymore: he dreamed. For the first time in a long, long time, he dreamed of a girl with flaxen hair and emerald eyes, and a fine golden sword.

**Author's Note:**

> Emiya was my last man standing against Rhongomyniad. He was never even supposed to hit the front line. And yet... he went three rounds toe-to-toe and hit her with crit after crit, and the bastard actually did it. It was amazing, and eventually I had to write it. Thanks for the read, anomalous internet folks.


End file.
